


temptation

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 07:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17463278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: She started. There was something familiar to the voice beyond the door, something she couldn't quite place. Sansa pressed ever closer against the door. She could hear voices, laughing. A laugh so completely and hauntingly familiar that it pierced her to the bone.It was her.





	temptation

The Stark house was empty, the unmistakable sounds of silence rushing through the halls, where usually there was only noise. The members of the household had long ago departed, piling into their cars, giddy with excitement and bubbling with conversation, as they pulled free from the carpark, the convoy headed towards the beaches at Dragonstone.

Where the manse was usually bursting with convival voices, laughter, or the screams that followed games or playing, stood only silence. It was a welcome relief to Sansa, who had spent the previous fortnight holed up in her flat or the University library, with her nose pressed into the books she had hoped to memorise before her finals.

But now finals were finished and beach vacations were to be had and there was nothing to cloud her mind. Well...almost nothing.

The house was almost completely empty. Almost.

The guest rooms were being occupied by Jon Snow, her brother's friend of more than two decades, who was so close to the Stark's that he was nearly one himself. Sansa thanked the Gods that he wasn't.

It had been years since she had developed her crush, seeing the boy who had picked flowers for her sprout into a man who took easily to skinny jeans and black leather jackets. He was tall and lithe, his body as lean as any rugby player's might be, all hard muscle and firm sinew, and after so many springs at the lake or summers at the beach, Sansa had grown accustomed to seeing the hard moors of muscle that often hid beneath too many layers of clothes.

Now he drove a motorcycle and kept packs of cigarettes tucked into his back pocket– a welcome excuse for Sansa to sneak looks at his arse— and was given so many girl's phone numbers that his mobile seemed to be a who's who of the lingerie department of Marks & Spencer.

But underneath it all, he was still Jon.

He was still the same boy who had kissed her knee when she fell off the slide at the playground or punched Joffrey Baratheon when he had called her a slut for not going down on him at Margaery's homecoming party in grade ten. Jon who had offered to escort her to her senior prom when her date had canceled the night before.

He was still Jon. Her Jon.

He had promised Ned and Catelyn that he would catch up to them soon, that he just hadn't gotten a proper night's sleep in three days and that he wouldn't be much fun to be around. Her parent's had been skeptical until Jon had commented that it probably wouldn't be safe to drive his bike in such a state, and they had reluctantly agreed to leave him behind to sleep for a few hours.

Sansa had managed to evade her parents by claiming that she had accidently packed Arianne's phone into her luggage and the girl would be swinging by to pick it up, when in truth Arianne was probably already knee deep in male models at her vacation house in Sunspear.

That left only she and Jon in an empty house, for the next six hours.

She had already donned her finest lingerie, a lacy white number that was more see through that most panes of glass, artfully hidden beneath a pair of pyjama pants and a jumper Jon had lent her. Well...unknowingly lent her.

She combed out her hair and let it fall down her back like a cascade, Theon having once gotten sloshed and revealed Jon's penchant for redheads. Kissed by fire, he likes to call them, Theon had slurred. Sansa had not missed the way Jon had flushed at the words, and refused to meet her eye for the rest of the night.

She made her way through the house, sneaking carefully down the corridors in hopes of catching Jon unawares. She had mapped it out and mapped it out again, planning to sneak into Jon's rooms while he was out and carefully arrange herself on his bed, so that when he returned, she'd be waiting for him, all underwear and no waiting.

Sansa had been more than annoyed to find out that Jon really had been planning to spend the afternoon sleeping, for he had not once come out of his room. Not even when Sansa had tempted him with the smell of fresh baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies— his favourites. Or when she had accidentally dropped a cast iron pan just a few feet outside his door.

She supposed she would just have to adapt and replan. Above all things, she was flexible. But then, Jon would see that soon enough.

It was two more hours before she gave up completely, slightly deflating as she made her way back to his room. She was just going to have to knock and make some hasty excuse to draw him out and go from there.

Adjusting herself slightly, Sansa raised her fist to knock on the door to his bedroom when something suddenly stopped her. She paused, startled to hear someone on the other end of the door was speaking.

She heard a woman's voice. Her heart plummeted.

Had Jon really stayed behind to sneak some girl into her parents house? He and Robb had their own flat, why bring her here of all place?

Sansa pressed her ear to the door, both seething with rage and bursting with curiosity to see who this mystery woman was. The sound was muffled— damn the thick mahogany her father had widdled himself— but it was clear enough if she got closer and pressed her ear flat against the wood.

It was moaning. Plain and simple. There was simply no way to disguise it. She had shared a flat with Margaery Tyrell her first year at University after all.

Her stomach turned at the thought. Not only had Jon snuck a girl into the house, but they were having sex! She wanted to die.

Sansa listened closer, voyeristically wondering what Jon would sound like in bed. The thought had played through her head many times over the years, especially late at night when she was under the covers with nothing to do but herself.

Would he be quiet? Would he be quiet? Would he want to be praised? Dear Gods she hoped he would not want to wear women's knickers and be called Jonella.

She could definitely hear something that sounded eerily like a man's moaning. It made a thrill run through her from head to foot to know that it was Jon. She hated how many years she had spent wondering what it would sound like to be with him.

He moaned louder now. It was definitely moaning, she was sure of it, and it made her press her ear closer, until she was nearly lying on top of the door. She grimaced as it creaked under the weight of her body, but she heard neither footsteps nor the disruption of moans to prove that Jon had heard her.

She wondered what they were doing in there, what Jon was doing. Her cheeks darkened with a blush as she tried to picture what he would look like naked. What his face would look like as he...

She started. There was something familiar to the voice beyond the door, something she couldn't place. Sansa pressed ever closer. She could hear voices, laughing. A laugh so completely and hauntingly familiar that it pierced her to the bone.

It was her.

She tried the knob of the door, finding it was unlatched, and opened it. She was careful to open the door as little as possible, just a sliver to prove that she had heard what she had heard.

Jon was sitting on the bed, his back to her and his laptop just out of reach, lying casually on the comforter, as though it were not playing a video he had taken of her their previous summer at the lake. She watched the past version of her laugh, her mouth moving in silent words as she spoke to Jon, the camera man who stood just out of reach.

She was wearing the olive green one piece that Arianne had picked out for her, with a diamond shaped cut out just above her belly button and the scooped hem that bared almost her entire back. Arya had given her a funny look but she hadn’t cared. Sansa had wanted Jon to see her; wanted him to look at her as a woman, not just as Robb’s sister. As someone who was practically his own sister.

With a thrill of smug satisfaction, Sansa could see that the suit had achieved its intended purpose.

And Jon...

His jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped and his hand had disappeared within the part at the apex of his underwear. She could see the movement of his hand, see the way his chest heaved with every intake of uneven breath. The air was filled with the heady, slick sounds of skin on skin as he masturbated. His shirt had hiked up a little at the friction of his arm against his belly and she could see the muscles of his stomach were tight as a balled fist.

He moaned, a long, low sound, and it seemed to pierce right through her. Sansa licked her lips unconsciously, picturing Jon taking the same care and time with her body. She shifted on the balls of her feet, redolent heat rushing through her body, twisting in her belly like a slowly uncoiling serpent.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, so hard that she could almost hear its echo in her ears. Jon moaned again, long and low, more a growl than anything.

“Jon.” she whispered, the door sliding open with a creak.

Multiple things happened in very quick succession. First, Jon cursed loudly, reaching for a pillow and pressing it over his lap in a vain attempt to hide what she had already seen. His legs jerked in surprise, the laptop sliding onto the floor with a jarring crash, reminding her of how quiet the house had once been.

“Sansa I—” he began, stuttering out an apology she did not need. His face was redder than a beet, redder than her hair, redder than she had ever seen anything, and his mouth opened and closed several times in wordless desperation.

His cheeks were dark but the rest of his face had gone pale, his dark eyes wider than they had been when Robb had convinced them to binge watch the Alien franchise while the power was out. “I wasn’t...I—”

She moved to sit on the bed beside him, so close that she could practically feel the hot waves of embarrassment and shame rolling off him. Her fingers took hold of one of the dark curls that had fallen into his eyes and tucked it behind his ear, lingering for a moment on his cheek. Her thing brushed lightly across his bottom lip, feeling his hot breath brush against it as he exhaled, long and slow.

“I didn’t know.” She whispered, watching his dark lashes flutter. “I...I didn’t know.”

He closed the space between them in a moment, his lips finding hers as though it were a practiced gesture. His hand curved around her neck, guiding her head gently to the side so he could deepen the kiss, pulling her tight in his embrace.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” Jon breathed, still half panting. His eyes were black with desire. “It’s been so long. I never thought that you...”

She kissed him again. His lips were warm, softer than she had imagined they could be, and they fit so easily against hers that it seemed the Gods had molded them just for this.

Sansa sank into his lap easily, yet another perfect fit, and laid her arms around his neck like a wreath, so close that he could feel the heat of her blush upon his face. Her jumper fell away, meaningless, and Jon moaned softly at the sight of her. His eyes were dark, filled to the brim with something she recognises as hunger, a form of pure starvation, as though he might die without her touch.

His cock had began to soften after the shock of being caught, but under her tutelage it stands firm once more, pressed hard to her belly as she straddles him. His hands comb through her hair, her lips peppering his face with kisses.

“Sansa.” he whispered, as though not sure that she was real.

It took little coaxing to guide him onto his back and before long Sansa had sank to her knees at his feet, the burgeoning wetness at the juncture of her thighs so warm that it seemed hotter than fire.

She made agonosingly slow work of undoing the jeans he had quickly buttoned upon discovery, dragging the denim down his strong thighs before letting them pool at his ankles, her fingernails scraping teasingly down his flesh. Jon could barely even speak, so overcome with lust and surprise and devotion that it was all he could do to drop his head back against the bed and let her work.

Her hands dissapeared beneath his shirt, cold palms upon warm skin, and he shivered at her touch. Her fingers danced across his stomach, feeling the firm ridges of gently clenched muscle, and she lifted his shirt over his head and tossing it to the end of the bed.

She laid a line of kisses down his chest and belly, her fingers tracing a path that her tongue lavishly followed. Sansa spent a moment exploring his body, reliving the memories of the scars that broke his skin, from cycling crashes or football accidents, even the small punctured scar he had gotten when Arya and Sansa had spilled lemon juice on the kitchen floor and he had fallen into a pair of her mother’s cooking tongs.

She kissed the line just above his hips and felt him jerk in response, letting out a small whimper. He basked in the warmth of her breath, goosebumps peppering his skin, and almost came the moment her lips touched his skin.

She ran her tongue down the length of him, curious, her eyes upon his face to gauge his reaction. Jon’s hands had tightened into fists in the sheets, his hips jerking towards her unconsciously. He was smooth in her mouth, her tongue following the line of the veins that ran down his shaft.

“T-tell me if it’s too much.” Jon choked out. The restraint in his voice was apparent from his first words, the way the vein in his neck bulged seeming seconds from bursting.

Sansa rolled her eyes, but it secretly made her cheeks burn with pleasure to know that even now, he was more concerned with her comfort than his.

She decided to halt her languid exploration in favour of his pleasure, turning her attention fully to the cock that stood before her. She closed her lips around his head, her fingers tightening at the base of him where she could not reach, and they moved in careful unison.

Jon shuddered, keening. His hand fell to the back of her head but there was nothing forceful in his touch. He carded his fingers through her hair gently, brushing it out from her eyes affectionately, and had her mouth not been otherwise occupied she would have smiled.

She let out a soft hum and Jon moaned again, caressing her cheek gently. She could feel him watching her, as though still in disbelief of it all.

She laved her tongue across him and he groaned again, the sound seeming to vibrate through his entire body. She can feel pressure building between her legs, the pure vulnerability and trust of their position making her wetter than even her filthiest fantasies of him had been.

“Sansa I’m—“ Jon began, a warning edge to his voice.

She ignored him and quickened her pace, taking him further into her mouth. She was slow but steady, driving him just to the edge of pleasure without pushing him quite over. He canted his hips up, reaching toward her as far as he could go, and his name was on her lips, spilling out breathlessly just as he did.

But Sansa did not release him yet, pushing him through the pleasure of his orgasm with long, languid strokes, just as she had wanted to for more years than she could count, until his stomach was jumping and the taste of him, salted and fresh, had almost gone from her mouth.

He collapsed back on the bed, exhausted from the rush of orgasm, but still he took the time to reach for her, collecting her in his arms and making sure she was just beside him.

“Sansa.” he breathed, and kissed her, not caring that she was sure he could taste himself on her lips. He blushed prettily, a stark contrast to such dark curls. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” he began, looking embarrassed. He tucked her hair behind her ear, giving her cheek an encouraging caress. “I mean you’re...You didn’t-“

“Shh,” she whispered. There was starvation in her eyes and heat between her thighs. Jon’s hand strayed down her belly and slipped between the thighs she had parted for him. She takes great pleasure in seeing the way his eyes widened when he found wetness there and she knew just what she was doing to him. “There is plenty of time for all that, love.” she said. “We’re all alone now. We’ve got all the time in the world.”


End file.
